


Hold Me Tight

by endlessnepenthe



Series: Head and Shoulders, Paws and Tail [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Comfort No Hurt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Scent Marking, Shapeshifting, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, don't mind me I'm just living vicariously through Dean here, no hurt only comfort!! because sometimes we all need that, sometimes you're just so tired because of life and you need someone to hold you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: “Cas…”Half lidded sleepy eyes blink up at Dean.“I’m back,” Dean mumbles, rather pointlessly.Castiel’s slow smile is a drowsy bird shaking itself before taking flight. He lazily reaches out and Dean doesn’t hesitate, stumbling forward to fall into Castiel’s arms.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Head and Shoulders, Paws and Tail [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621105
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	Hold Me Tight

Dean storms into the house.

There’s no other word for it, really.

He’d shut the door of the Impala with a tad too much force earlier and the regret had been a splash of the coldest water in his face. Instantly, he had laid a hand on Baby’s still warm hood and whispered strangled apologies for treating her so roughly. Her engine had clicked as it cooled, quiet and gentle, as if conveying her understanding. Dean doesn’t move until the Impala had fallen silent, long after the automatic light overhead had switched off and plunged the garage into broken darkness. Ingrained habit and weak light bleeding from gaps under the doors serve as guides where plain sight cannot.

His bootlaces are yanked loose, boots carelessly kicked off his feet and abandoned where they land on the cream tiles of the entrance. The calm scent of fresh rain and clean wind is placating Dean on an instinctive level, but even he can smell the sharp bitterness to his pine forest staining the air.

It’s just after midnight, and he’s exhausted.

The work dinner had dragged on; what should have been a short and politely pleasant celebration between coworkers had taken a wrong turn the instant Alistair had decided to show up. Dean had braced himself for the lofty self serving bragging from Crowley, something most of them just barely tolerated, but Alistair is definitely worse. So much worse. Together, the pair were insufferable. Some had pled the hour as an excuse to leave, but Alistair had zeroed in on Dean as his target for the night. Thankfully, the haze of alcohol and distinct smoke of barbeque in the air was the perfect scent blocker, sparing him from Alistair’s wet dog stench.

Dean resolves to never attend another optional work dinner. Even free food (and booze he doesn’t drink) isn’t worth having to deal with Alistair. He’ll stick to department specific mandatory meetings from now on.

He removes his jacket, hanging it up on a hook next to the familiar long coat of pale sand. The thinnest thread of stirring curiosity leads Dean into the living room, seeking out the source of lamplight casting a warm glow over the walls.

Quiet but just faintly audible in the serene silence is the sound of breathing, steady and deep with sleep. Dean stops to stare, simmering irritation effectively blunted.

His mate is beautiful like this. Dean’s brilliant and strong mate is always gorgeous, but there’s something about this — unguarded and vulnerable and  _ soft _ — it steals the breath from Dean’s lungs. He’s slumbering peacefully, recently washed dark hair an adorable fluffy mess, and he’s wearing one of  _ Dean’s _ shirts. It’s a sight Dean will never tire of seeing. Then he’s frowning, nose twitching as he subconsciously scents the air, and  _ oh crap _ Dean isn’t prepared—

“Cas…”

Half lidded sleepy eyes blink up at Dean.

“I’m back,” Dean mumbles, rather pointlessly.

Castiel’s slow smile is a drowsy bird shaking itself before taking flight. He lazily reaches out and Dean doesn’t hesitate, stumbling forward to fall into Castiel’s arms.

Belatedly, Dean realizes he probably reeks — of smoke, alcohol, countless strangers, a disgusting clash of far too many perfumes and colognes, his own steaming heap of largely negative emotions — and shouldn't be pressed up against anyone, much less Castiel. Castiel, who smells only of himself and the gentle scent of their shared shampoo, who is tired because he had stayed up to wait for Dean to return, who hums a soothing purr and guides Dean’s face to his neck.

The first inhale is purely instinctive, a quick scan for Castiel’s most prominent emotion. Dean nuzzles just under Castiel’s jaw, breathing in until he could almost taste the languid contentment and near undetectable tint of worry on his tongue. Castiel rests a hand on Dean’s neck, thumb dragging absently across the light stubble shadowing Dean’s jaw.

His absolute lack of energy leads to easy obedience on Dean’s part and he kneels quietly on the floor between Castiel’s legs, happily drowning himself in the comfort Castiel is indulgently offering. It isn’t until Castiel’s hand stills and goes slack, does Dean finally shrug off the tranquil fog slowing his brain and remember exactly where they are.

“Cas.”

“Mm…?”

“I stink.”

Castiel doesn’t reply.

“Lemme up; I need a shower.” Dean halfheartedly tries to sit up but doesn’t get very far, with Castiel’s arms still around him.

“Hm.”

“Cas, you can’t sleep here.”

Castiel huffs a low growl.

A minute later, Dean is following the end of a long black tail up the stairs. He grabs clean boxers and a plain dark t shirt from the dresser, only distantly aware of Castiel slinking to the loft.

The promise of a hot shower lends Dean temporary strength to quickly shed his layers. He doesn’t pause getting in but he does stall when it comes to leaving; the mundane routine of scrubbing every inch of himself clean under the near scalding spray brings Dean significantly close to calm and he nearly nods off for a moment, eyes closed as the water beats down on his shoulders.

Only the knowledge of Castiel and a memory foam mattress waiting for Dean gives him enough of a push to end the enjoyable time he’s been spending just standing in the shower. He swipes a towel over his heat flushed skin, chasing after water droplets, then hastily tugs on his clothes. His energy is rapidly waning and Dean doesn’t want to give Castiel any more troubles — he has to make it to bed before his muscles refused to cooperate.

Dean drags himself up the steps of the loft, fueled by sheer stubborn determination. Castiel takes one look at him and carefully but firmly nudges at Dean until he’s seated on the edge of the bed.

One hand caresses Dean’s cheek, warm touch brief but lingering. Castiel’s reluctance is obvious when he takes a dragging half step back. “Stay here,” he murmurs, and waits patiently for Dean to dip his head in affirmation. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The irony of being told to  _ stay _ like a dog doesn’t escape Dean, but he’s too tired to move. A minute isn’t long. So Dean does as he’s told, head nodding forward sleepily with his hands resting on his bare thighs. He hears Castiel flush the toilet, wash his hands with soap, open and close a drawer.

Then Castiel’s returning, silent on bare feet but scent growing ever stronger as he approaches.

Eyes closed, Dean doesn’t so much as twitch even when Castiel pads right by him without a pause. The sound of something being plugged into the wall, however, is enough to have Dean glancing up.

The height of their elevated bed allows Dean’s knees to frame Castiel’s thighs — just under his slim hips — when Castiel slots himself between Dean’s legs, hair dryer in one hand. Just as Dean draws breath to protest, Castiel raises a finger of his free hand.

“No,” Castiel reprimands. “None of that.”

Dean bites back his words, pressing his teeth together until he feels a muscle in his jaw flex.

Castiel actually looks relieved when there’s no real argument; Dean is so surprised by the reaction, he goes easily when Castiel pulls him closer. Forehead resting against the lower half of Castiel’s ribcage, Dean’s arms automatically wrapped around Castiel’s waist, effectively trapping his willing victim. He startles a little when the hair dryer is turned on and Castiel bends to drop an apologetic kiss to the top of his head.

White noise of running machinery, warm air, and strong fingers sliding through Dean’s hair lulls him into a heavy doze. He could definitely sleep like this. Castiel is giving off enough heat for Dean to forget blankets, and he’s handling Dean leaning his full weight forward with no real difficulty.

It’s all awesome and perfect, until Castiel shifts a step over to place the hair dryer aside on the bedside cabinet. An undeniable  _ whine _ works its way up Dean’s throat, his arms tightening around Castiel. With a flexibility Dean cannot hope to fully appreciate in the current situation, Castiel bends to the side and stretches until he completes his mission.

“Dean.” Castiel cradles Dean’s face in his hands, leaning back enough to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

Blinking slowly upward, Dean frowns a wordless inquiry.

Castiel levels a pointed glance at the bed.

Right. He would never allow Dean to sleep sitting up.

Dean pauses to spend half a minute concentrating, no doubt looking like he’s constipated to Castiel’s confused eyes. Turns out, the effort is wasted; a large part of Dean had supposed he didn’t currently have the energy to swap places with his wolf no matter how much he wanted to, and Dean finds himself pushing out his bottom lip in an unhappy sulk with the realization that he’d been correct.

It takes a rather ridiculous combination of rolling, wiggling, some movements very loosely defined as crawling, and more strength than Dean felt he had left in his limbs, but he finally flops onto his back in the center of their bed with a low sigh. He shifts, restless, as Castiel diligently fluffs a few pillows and tucks a thick comforter over Dean’s sprawled form.

_ C’mere, _ Dean doesn’t say.

Even so, Castiel seems to understand. The mattress dips when Castiel’s weight moves, but he doesn’t get under the covers as Dean expected. Instead, Castiel settles himself on top of Dean.

Dean has all of one breath to be mildly confused. Then Castiel exhales and Dean feels the shift; lighter human weight grows heavier, hands and feet are changed into large paws, Castiel’s whole body structure replaced by something different.

With no real force, Castiel presses the pads of his front paws against Dean’s chest, kneading lightly. All of his considerable weight rests on Dean — even his tail, the end of which is flipping slowly back and forth through the air, is curled on one of Dean’s legs — and although Dean could breathe with only about three quarters of his lung capacity, there’s something so oddly  _ soothing _ about being pinned under Castiel.

Crushed into the memory foam mattress by the strong firm warmth of Castiel, Dean feels grounded. Safe. He knows it’s probably super weird. Typically he would be wheezing and complaining about how heavy Castiel is, possibility even attempting to roll them over, if he was feeling particularly energetic at the time. Right now, the sensation is nothing short of heavenly. It feels like Castiel is rebuilding him, fusing together all the scattered pieces of Dean with heat and pressure, just as a diamond is created.

Between one breath and the next, Dean’s eyes flutter shut. Sleep is an inevitable wave approaching and Dean is out at sea on a flimsy little raft — he knows he can’t hold it off, knows he will be swept under in seconds.

“Cas,” Dean only just manages to slur. He doesn't know what he's asking for.

Castiel stretches forward to rub his cheek against Dean’s, nuzzling the underside of his jaw.

Dean’s scent brightens noticeably before he’s out like a light.

After a few minutes of watching Dean, Castiel returns to his form with opposable thumbs. He knows Dean would appreciate waking up to Castiel being not quite so furry. Carefully, he slips under the comforter; Dean, still properly asleep, instantly snuggles closer to throw an arm over Castiel’s ribs and tangle their legs together.

Breathing a fond laugh into Dean's hair, Castiel closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> any ideas for what Sammy (or Gabriel) would shift into?


End file.
